Euro Day 10: City of Heights

Author's note: My apologies on 2 counts. One, I've been far too tardy in getting these posts out and, two, this particular post will be long. Like - really long. It was that kind of day. Apologies aside, I hope you find it all worthwhile.

It's Tuesday, July 17, 2007 - and today we will be using our legs. A lot. In preparation for this day of physical exertion, I forgot myself and stayed up way too late the night before reading Michael Palin Diaries: The Python Years, 1969-1979. My fatigue lasted only as long as the carafe of coffee during breakfast at the Hilton, and I was able to meet my first challenge in boarding the bus without assistance from anyone.

We took a very short ride, narrated by Sylvie, to the Pompidou Centre where we would begin our walk to Notre Dame. The Pompidou is a building that is literally constructed inside-out to maximize it's interior space for art exhibits and the like. The effect, however, is an uncanny resemblance to a colourful oil refinery (which is how Parisians lovingly refer to it). An interesting competitor for Sylvie's narration: a young fellow standing near us in the almost-empty square training his pet falcon. That was pretty cool.

Whimsical fountains near the Pompideau Centre.

Sylvie led us the short distance to Notre Dame, where the outer square was already coming alive with its infamous 'gypsies' selling tin Eiffel Tower souvenirs, cheap postcards, and opportunities to get suckered into the 'my mother/father/sibling is in the hospital and I need money to get them home' scam. Some things never change, it seems. So long as we didn't make eye contact, none of these entrepreneurs were a bother.

We made use of our ample time to wander inside the cathedral. The 'rose windows' were just as I had remembered them from 20-odd years past - hypnotic in their way and almost magically lit. The rest of the cathedral was as I remembered, as well - gray, silent, and exuding its holiness. Religious or not, one cannot help but to be awed by those hands that have coaxed so much much beauty from cold, hard stone.

We soon met up with Alex outside the cathedral, for we would be among the first groups of the day to trace the path of Quasimodo up the stone steps of Notre Dame. After 10 minutes of idle chit-chat, the rope dropped (that's a Disney joke, folks!) and we started our ascent of 422 stairs. Having warmed up on the first few dozen steps, however, we were waylaid in the cathedral's imaginitively-placed gift shop as the Holy Keepers of the Cathedral Gifts made change for the tourists and (presumably) readied the rest of the stairs for us. Nice touch.

Up the narrow stone spirals we went and, soon, we found ourselves on the narrow walkway that joins Notre Dame's two towers part-way to their tops. The view of Paris, the magnificent gargoyles, the blue-sky weather - all breathtaking. To see Paris from this vantage point is to risk never having the will to look away. We needed to move on, however, so we we took a detour up some wooden steps for a quick look at Notre Dame's infamous bell. It's big and I was glad that it's only used on special occasions (our visit not being one of those). Sitting next to the bell in a chair was a young fellow - likely in his late teens - whose job it was to, well, sit by the bell. I suppose if one of us had actually touched the bell, our young friend would have sprung into action. Since we're good Canadians and follow all the rules, I guess we'll never know.

Looking up at Notre Dame cathedral

We were now ready to make our final assault on the very top of the cathedral tower. The stairs - still reassuring stone - grew much narrower and the spirals much tighter. But the effort was instantly forgotten the moment we reached the top. We were afforded a 360-degree open-air view of Paris, from 63 meters (about 207 feet) above the city, and it was stunning. Paris, with its blanket of low-rising buildings, appeared as a gently undulating sea of white and green that laps at the distant outcrop that is Sacre-Coeur. This was one of those moments you'd never want to end - and I silently hoped it was something that would stick my with kids for many years.

Before we ascend the stones back to Earth there is one item left to discuss - gargoyles. Europe is crawling with them, of course, but Notre Dame's are something special. Functionally, many of the gargoyles are just ornate downspouts. But as one ascends the cathedral towers, these grotesques become more ornamental - and hungry, it seems. I won't spoil any surprises here, but a close examination of the gargoyles may reveal their taste for smaller mammals. Nuff said.

A gargoyle stands vigil over Paris

Next on the agenda was cruise on the Seine aboard a Batobus - a wonderful water shuttle service that transports people up and down the river between tourist hot-spots. It's a very slow, but relaxing, ride - taking us about 45 minutes to reach the Eiffel Tower stop. And speaking of hot-spots, here's a tip: if the weather is sunny, find a shady spot in which to sit. A Batobus' seating area is largely covered by a clear, plexiglass dome. Think Sun, magnifying glass, and ants - and you'll get the picture.

As we exited the Batobus at the Eiffel Tower, Sylvie and Andrew led The Gang to a special elevator queue for those lucky enough to have a restaurant reservation. Mere mortals would need to wait in line for a few hours before their turn at navigating the Tower's tiny elevators. After (yet another) half-hearted Parisian security check, we were whisked up to Level 1 for lunch at the fashionable Altitude 95. The meal, the service, the view - simply incredible.

After our lunch, some of The Gang (my family included) opted to follow Andrew on the stair climb to Level 2. It really was an easy climb for everyone (the stairs are not steep). At the risk of runing surprises, those of us with Sherpa-blood coursing our veins were rewarded with commemorative coins for our efforts. Disney does think of everything, you know.

From the ground, up - underneath the Tower

After a quick tour of Level 2 (think: Level 1, but higher), Dee, the kids, and I got into the very long queue for the Level 3 elevators. There are no stairs available for this journey, and the elevators are necessarily smaller for the narrow climb to the top. After only 20 minutes of waiting, however, we made the tranformation into sardines and found outselves on Level 3. The view from there is really-and-truly amazing. Some of The Gang did not make it to Level 3 because of crowds, etc. - but I could not fathom how anyone would miss what could be their only opportunity ever to stand atop the Tower.

From the Tower, towards the Trocadero

Once we'd had our fill of amazing panoramas, we re-traced our path to the ground: elevator to Level 2 and then stairs all the way down (definitely easier than going up). Andrew was waiting nearby to send The Gang back back to the hotel in a succession of cabs. Alex met us at the Hilton and paid the driver to complete this efficient and effective process. The Double-A's continued to impress us all! We were now on 'free time' for the rest of the day.

Our plan was to visit Montmartre, which is sort of a Parisian artist enclave. This area is also famous for nearby Sacre-Coeur, its windmills, and nighclubs such as the (in)famous Moulin Rouge. Alex was able to show us the best way to get to Montmartre: a 5-minute walk to the Metro and then another 15 minutes on the subway. Before we knew it, we were standing at the base of the funicular that transports people up to Sacre-Coeur. A footnote: the Paris Metro system was far-and-away easier and more pleasant to navigate than the London Underground (and its air-conditioned!).

The funicular line was long, however, and we elected to walk the stairs to the top of the hill. This was decidedly more work than climbing the Eiffel Tower, it seemed. The view from the top was lovely - sort of an analogue of the view from the Tower. The basilica at Sacre-Coeur was something else. While we had seen a lot of churches in England, Sacre-Coeur was (and is) in a class by itself in terms of beauty - delicate white stone against a blue Parisian sky.

Sacre-Coeur under the Paris sky

In the heart of Montmartre is a square called Place Du Tertre, which was packed with artists doing cheesy (and expensive) 'tourist art'. It was row upon row of Paris skylines and such - all being painted in real-time for us on-lookers with our Bermuda shorts, camera bags, and disposable cash. We found solace in one of the tented cafes, where we sat down for a lovely (and filling) dinner of crepes (with a beer-chaser for me). It was just a nice, relaxing family time and I could not imagine being (or wanting to be) anywhere else at that moment.

Our bellies full again, we strolled the narrows streets of Montmarte - following our noses and our tourbook. We saw the windmills, we saw the creepy/gothic Montmartre Cemetery, and we saw the Moulin Rouge. In consideration of the kids, both the cemetery and Moulin Rouge were only experienced from the outside looking in. Interesting tidbit one: it was only 7:00pm and there was already a line of well-dressed folks waiting to enter the Moulin Rouge. Interesting tidbit two: I believe the guard house at Montmartre cemetery's entrance offers guidebooks for locating the famous residents sleeping nearby. And now, a short travelogue of some shufflings through Montmartre - set to music, of course.

By this point, the day's walking was taking its toll, and we elected to return to the hotel. The Metro whisked us back and soon I was dozing in front of the TV, being surprised that The Simpsons had learned to speak French. But by 9:30pm we were somehow restless again and Dee seized the opportunity to drag me out for a walk. The kids - far more clever than I - elected to camp out in their hotel room. Dee and I wandered over to the Arc de Triomphe, which is only about a 10 minute journey from the Hilton. We discovered along the way that the Saudi and Japanese embassasies have offices in the neighbourhood - which made us feel quite safe being out and about.

The Arc is impressive at night, with its moody lighting adding a sense of the dramatic to its carvings and inlays. We also saw the Eiffel Tower lit up for the first time and discovered that it actually sparkles! Could there be a more romantic moment: Paris lit up at night and no kids around?

The Eiffel Tower at night.

Being the good parents we are, by 10:30pm we thought we should return to the Hilton and check on the kids. They were about to seal the deal with Mr. Sandman when we got back, so we ended our own day with journal updates and some expensive beer from the mini-bar.

Tomorrow, we would learn about The Arts - and practise our walking some more!

Euro Day 9: A Tale of Two Cities

Monday, July 16, 2007. With our luggage packed and ready for transport, we opted to partake of this morning's optional guided tour led by our local Blue Badge, Stephen. At 7:30am we met the other early birds in the Chancery lobby and we were soon prowling the neighbourhoods surrounding Lincoln's Inn Fields - which is just steps from the hotel. Among other things, this area is the historic and current locus of the legal profession in London while said-named park is thought to be an inspiration for NYC's Central Park. The buildings and inner courtyards of the Inns were such serene places on a busy Monday morning - yet just a block away was the hurley-burley of London as she awoke for another workaday week. The tour, while just an hour in length, held a few notable highlights for me: the shop said to be the inspiration for Dickens' Olde Curiosity Shop, Temple Church (though I would have liked to see the inside), and a little shop that sells wigs for the legal folk.

JediBoy poses in the alleyway
enroute to Lincoln's Inn Fields


A lone Knight Templar
stands guard over the Inns

With our visit to the Inns at an end, we bade our goodbyes to Chancery Court as our bus departed for Waterloo Station. Our mission, catch the 10:40am Eurostar for a 3-hour trip into to Paris' Gare du Nord station.

For those of us who are used to the sleepy, somewhat low-pressure experience of riding trains in Canada, getting onto the Eurostar was something very different - more akin to boarding an airplane at a busy airport. There was security everywhere, metal detectors, and x-rays for ourselves and our carry-ons. I could only imagine what was happening to our other luggage. Even my 14 year-old BandGeek was subjected to a very friendly and very thorough search of her backpack.

The Eurostar looking serious

The train, itself, was quite comfy but not much different than our own (Canadian) Via1 service. I will say that the Eurostar's decor is quite modern and bright - and my fervent hope is that the invention of the adjustable head-rest 'wings' resulted in a Nobel prize for someone. The brunch served to us was quite nice: yogurt, fruit, coffee, souffle, etc. But the real prize was the free-flowing champagne. While sitting in the seat directly in front of me, Dee was somehow unaware of this service and regretted the missed opportunity to get buzzed on a train traveling 300 km/h. My descriptions of the experience were sadly lacking for her, so it seemed.

The scenery from the Eurostar is largely unremarkable. On the English side it's mostly urban terrain that continues to thin as the English Channel approaches. While it's allegedly possible to catch a glimpse of Dover before entering the Chunnel, this eluded me. As for the Chunnel experience, it's simply 20 minutes of absolute darkness until the train is expelled into the French countryside. Here the scenery is definitely rural - and it is here that the Eurostar glides towards top-speed on the flat French countryside. The following video clip is a condensed version of this trip and, if you're lucky, you may catch a glimpse of Your Humble Authour peering into the inky black that is the Chunnel.



Once at Paris' Gare du Nord, with it's reputation for pickpockets and ne'er-do-wells, we were met by our new local guide Sylvie. She, along with the Double-A's, deftly led The Gang through the throngs of people and onto our waiting motor-coach. We were to get a brief narrated tour of Paris on our way to our hotel. We spotted a few highlights along the way such as the Eiffel Tower and Opera Garnier - and I had that feeling of otherworldliness that we were (indeed!) in Paris. The bus parked at the Trocadero, which is perhaps the most famous vantage-point for taking photographs of the Eiffel Tower. And that's just what we did!

View from the Trocadero

After our leisurely picture-taking, we boarded the bus once again for a short ride to a local park. Here, Sylvie taught us all to play a traditional French game called Petanque - which is a hybrid of bocci and curling. We split ourselves into several teams and had a few rousing - if not amateurish - games. We were all rewarded for our efforts with some lovely desert croissants. And lest anyone think that Petanque is 'just for the tourists', rest assured that I did witness a televised match while in Paris - and the players were most serious about their sport!

Sylvie readies les boules
for a game of Petanque

Finally, it was time to check-in to the Hilton Arc de Triomphe - really just steps away from the actual Arc. The Hilton is beautifully appointed in the Art Deco style, and we were checked in at light-speed. Since we're a family of 4, Paris hotel regulations stipulate that we must have 2 rooms. So it was that we were given 2 adjoining rooms, actually connected by a private hallway. The kids were in their glory, being on their own. Dee and I were in our glory, being on own. Paris was going to be nice.

After some settling in, the kids elected to chill out in their new apartment while Dee and I took a stroll around the neighbourhood. A few blocks from the hotel is a park - Parc Monceau - designed in the English style, with ponds, lush greens, benches, and even pony rides. The park - as we later learned - is surrounded by expensive apartments - which was reflected by the armies of nannies and their charges we encountered in the park.

Dinner that night was a lovely private buffet at the hotel. The food was very good and prepared in the French style: fish, chicken, salads, mousse, etc. The good people at Disney had even supplied a sketch artist who did caricature portraits of each kid - a great way to keep them engaged during dinner.

By 8pm, the skies above Paris clouded over and it began to rain (our one-and-only instance of inclement weather). Since we were tired from the long day anyways, we retired to our rooms to read our guidebooks and prepare for the day ahead. I turned on the TV and caught a bit of BBC World Service. Oddly, they were doing a travelogue of Vancouver, Canada. The 'locals' came off looking somewhat like wanna-be surfer-vegetarian-hedonists who wear magic crystals and lace their speech with 'dude' or 'far-out'. I smiled and thought of Douglas Coupland.

As I closed my eyes and coaxed sleep to arrive, my dreams reminded me of stairs. Tomorrow, we would climb many of them.

Euro Day 8: A Day for Knights

It's Sunday, July 15, 2007 - and free wireless access proves to be elusive still. After a week without Internet access, I was getting twitchy. I elected to screw my resolve to the sticking place, however, and forget my troubles in a plate of Eggs Benedict at The Pearl. Heaven!

With breakfast out of the way, it was time for a short bus trip (this time on a more conventional carriage) to St. Paul's Cathedral, with our human encyclopedia, Stephen, narrating the way. This morning was to be a walking tour, so poking our heads inside the Cathedral was not in the cards. Stephen gave a wonderful lesson on the history of St. Paul's, however, and we learned that 'cathedral' comes from the Latin 'cathedra' which means 'throne' or 'chair' - and so St. Paul's houses the throne for the Bishop of London. There - now you're smart like me!

Approaching St. Paul's Cathedral

From St. Paul's we snaked our way to the Millennium Bridge which afforded a most scenic (and windy!) view up and down the Thames River. There we took time for pictures with the iconic Tower Bridge visible in the morning gray - offering proof for us all that this really was Merrie Olde London. At the far end of the bridge lie Shakespeare's Globe Theater - or at least a pitch-perfect reconstruction of the Globe. After a recent episode of Doctor Who, I had hoped to find the time to poke my head inside the the open-air theater - but that was not for today.

The view from the Millennium Bridge

As I turned my eyes back across the Thames from whence we came, I was struck by the South Bank's transformation since my first-and-only trip to London in 1985. Where I had remembered warehouses and empty streets there were now shiny office buildings and tres-expensive condos. I could not decide if this was a good thing or not - but I'm always suspicious of new development aimed at a demographic with bigger offices and cars than I.

We met our bus once more after a brief stroll along the Thames. Now we were to cross back along the Tower Bridge to our next destination - the Tower of London! After a short 'welcome ceremony' out front of the Tower led by the Double-A's (Alex and Andrew), The Gang filed into the Tower grounds en masse with Stephen leading the charge. There was a short walkabout and an informative overview of Tower history by Stephen. At that, we were unleashed for a few hours of free time to explore the complex on our own.

The Tower Bridge as seen from
outside the Tower of London

To properly see every detail of the Tower would take the better part of a day, I imagine. So we decided to concentrate on a few sights. As is customary for all tourists here, we made a point of eyeballing the crown jewels. Similar to how one cannot really imagine 'a million dollars', it was difficult to comprehend the wealth sitting in those oh-so-fortified rooms. JediBoy (my son for you new readers) led us to the White Tower for its collection of swords, suits of armour, cannons, etc. This was interesting, but I will admit that, soon enough, all these bits of metal on display sort of 'ran together' for me. There are only so many suits of armour and rusty swords that can hold one's interest.

We also did the Wall Walk which afforded some great views of the entire complex and a peek into how the Tower's 150-ish residents actually live. It's also a great way to explore a few of the outer towers. And, of course, we made a point to have our family portrait taken with a Yeoman Warder (aka Beefeater) by our side. Interesting fact: one must have a minimum of 23 years military experience before applying for the position of Yeoman Warder.

The White Tower



King Henry's Chapel

We (or rather, I) wanted to check out a Torture Chamber exhibit, but no one was willing to sacrifice their lunchtime to learn about vivisection. Pity that. We opted for a bite to eat at the Tower's 'New Amouries Restaurant'. The food was surprisingly good - and I quite enjoyed my roast pork with mash (followed by some manner of banana cream cake).

By 1:30pm we met up with The Gang and shuffled back to the bus. I should backtrack a bit here. When we checked into Chancery Court we were given ABD passes to The London Eye to use at our leisure. Some folks had used theirs on check-in day, but many of us did not. For those who wished to ride The Eye today, the bus would drop us at the right place while the remainder of The Gang could stay aboard for a lift back to the hotel. So, it was to The Eye we went!

At 400 feet high, with a single revolution taking 30 minutes, The London Eye is an impressive piece of equipment snuggled up to the banks of the Thames. To actually get onto The Eye is a less impressive thing to experience. Confusion seemed to reign supreme. Our first task: get in line (with about a hundred other people) to exchange our vouchers for actual tickets. There were a few hot tempers as a mob mentality kicked in. In one small area there were a few lines to negotiate - one for people with vouchers and one for people with cash. The trouble was that it was unclear (even to Eye staff) which line was which. A little patience went a long way, however, and soon we were able to get our tickets from one of the harried ladies behind the counter.

Next up: stand in another line (this time outside) to get onto The Eye. It took 45 minutes to prevail over drizzly weather, line-boredom, and security checks, but we eventually made in onto one of The Eye's 24-person capsules. The view, however, was all worth it. The leisurely revolution of The Eye gave us an amazing sweep of London, with Big Ben just a stone's throw across the Thames. Half-way through the ride, we watched a driving rainstorm sweep across London - and it was beautiful. And - lucky you, Gentle Reader - here is a bona fide snippet from our home movie of our lovely ride on The Eye.



By the time we exited our capsule - rain ponchos at the ready - the storm had passed. We picked our way down the flooded walkway, passing soaked tourists caught unawares - as we headed back towards the Parliament buildings. Our next goal for our afternoon of free time - Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. We found our destination without much trouble, paid our money, and found ourselves in the underground complex from where Churchill & Co. had run much of WWII. The complex - with its institutional-green meeting rooms, barracks, and such - have been left just as they were when the Rooms' inhabitants emerged into the sunlight on VE Day. The experience was singular in recreating the sights and sounds of living underground during the height of WWII. It was very sobering for us all.

With Churchill behind us, it was time to park ourselves on the museum steps and ponder our route back to Chancery Court. We were exhausted - and it was fortunate we had a few swiped chocolates from the Chancery lobby's candy dish to fortify us! Our plan was to make one more foray in the Tube for a lift home. As luck would have it, a procession of cabs came along and we were able to flag one down (were we going native?). We were back at Chancery Court in just minutes, thankfully.

Tip: For anyone who carries a PDA of some kind (I use a Palm Tx), there is a wonderful little application called MetrO that allows you to carry transit schedules for many cities worldwide (I carried along London and Paris). MetrO does more than just list transit schedules, however. It also allow you pick 'to' and 'from' destinations (including landmarks) and will automatically calculate the best route to take based on criteria such as quickest time, fewest transfers, etc. I will never without MetrO when I travel - and you can check out this free application at metro.nanika.net.

Since tomorrow would be a travel day to Paris, we needed our luggage packed and ready for the porters by 7:30am. We used this rest period, therefore, to get our suitcases put together. The kids - it should be noted - opted for some quality Gameboy time. Eventually, our fatigue subsided and our stomachs let us know it was time for some dinner. We decided to head over to Covent Garden (also within walking distance of the hotel) to see what we could see.

Covent Garden is quite a place. It's very large and was full of people milling about and lots of street performers to keep us entertained. We eventually settled on an outdoor cafe with a very talented guitar player nearby to help us pass the time. We had the added bonus of watching a slightly(?) inebriated fellow try to bribe the guitarist to play a few requests. It was all in good fun, however, and the crowd appreciated the show all the more. As had been our custom since we arrived in England, I gave the kids some coins which they dutifully (if not shyly) placed into the performer's guitar case. So while we started dinner a little tired and grouchy after a long day, the meal and the music made for some nice family time - and we went home a lot happier.

Something occurred to me while sitting under that cafe awning - England smelled different. It had been in the back of my brain all week - fighting to be recognized. It was nothing unpleasant or even unusual and, in a way, it was a bit like the ozone smell that lingers after a good storm. I came to remember that same smell from my short time there in 1985. I liked it in 1985 - and I liked it again in 2007. But it made me a tad melancholy as I remembered how very different my first trip to England had been - just me and 3 friends. No firm plans and no sense of anxiety about being in a place so foreign. I felt older. Maybe the responsibilities of being a parent, having a career, and all that middle-class suburban 'stuff' had dulled my sense of wide-eyed wanderlust. Or maybe - just maybe - I think too much.

Our bellies full, we found a shorter walking route back to Chancery Court. We finished up our packing. I wrote in my journal. And we closed our eyes for awhile. Tomorrow - it would be Paris!

Euro Day 7: Jolly Holiday

Today, July 14, 2007, would be our first official tour day with Disney. We started off with (yet another) Full English Breakfast - only this time surrounded by the 1 million fresh-water pearls that decorate The Pearl restaurant at Chancery Court. By 8:30am we were in the lobby awaiting our final boarding call for the 1960's vintage Routemaster double-decker bus that Disney was providing for a tour of London. Soon enough, the 4 four of us had claimed topside seats to listen to our amazing local (Blue Badge) guide, Stephen, narrate our route to Westminster Abbey.

The Routemaster

Once at the Abbey, we all listened raptly to Stephen as he took us through a few hundred years of history in just 90 short minutes. The lectures were sometimes punctuated by the sounds of the Abbey's boys choir as they rehearsed in a nearby school. The overall vibe just made me feel glad and content to be in-the-moment. Dee was even kind of enough to shuffle the kids off to the gift shop to allow me a few minutes to wander the Abbey on my own, where I was able to locate the grave markers of many of its famous residents. I was even able to poke my head inside The Pyx, where visions from Neal Stephenson's 3-volume Baroque Cycle finally crystallized.

Big Ben and Westminster Abbey

From the Abbey, we strolled through St. James's park over to Buckingham Palace. The Park was green under a warm July sun, and full of people enjoying themselves. This just reinforced my observation that the English really do make use of their parks to an extent we don't don't often see in North America. By 11:45am, Alex and Andrew (the Double-A's) - with Stephen's help - had positioned The Gang at a spot near Buckingham's soldiers barracks. This seemingly out-of-way corner gate was apparently a prime position to view the procession after the Changing of the Guards. And boy were they right! As the guards marched by, we literally had to back up a step or two to avoid being mowed down by the procession.

Procession after Changing of the Guards

Afterwards, we made our way to the Palace to find that the crowd had dispersed. This was a great time for photos. My only disappointment was to find that there no longer a guestbook at the Palace gate. 20-odd years ago I signed that guest book - although the Queen has yet to send me a 'thank-you' note. I'm blaming the mail, but a phone call would have been nice, too.

Buckingham Palace

By this time our Routemaster was waiting for us near the palace, and we were whisked off to Harrod's to partake in tea and luncheon at the 4th-floor Georgian Room. Now when I think of 'luncheon', I think of fussy little sandwiches made from rolls of coloured bread filled with something that has the vague consistency of cat food. Not true! We were served salad, finger sandwiches (containing actual meat!), scones, jams, desserts, and - of course - tea. The atmosphere only enhanced the sense of occasion: white linen, fine china, 3-tiered serving dishes, and white-jacketed serving staff. There seemed to no end to the food and we all came away feeling quite stuffed.

With lunch out of the way, we had a few hours of free time until the evening events. We chose to wander a bit through Harrod's and take note of all the items we could not afford. You just know you're in the wrong place when, instead of a store directory, there are actual live human beings on each floor whose job it is to answer any and all questions. Some highlights of note: the pet department with it's 1000GBP cats, the oh-so-tacky 'Dodi and Diana' memorial, watching an Arab fellow - in full flowing garments - jumping on a bed to test it's comfort, and overhearing a well-dressed lady telling someone at the other of end of a cellphone that she'd only spent 10,000GBP so far.

We eventually found our way out of Harrod's - easier said than done - and took a stroll over to Kensington Gardens (Hyde Park) with the goal of seeing Kensington Palace (Diana's home at one time). The park was certainly idyllic on this Summer day. People were lounging about in chairs, trying to turn their pasty white skin to something approaching 'tanned'. Others were playing frisbee, paddling the Serpentine, even riding horses. The park was much larger than we anticipated, and the long walk left a mere 30 minutes in which to tour the Palace. We opted to just make our way back to Chancery Court by way of the Tube.

Navigating the pricing system for the London Underground requires mathematical understanding beyond my capability. In the end I simply thrust a wad of cash at a man behind some thick glass, and he returned all but 10GBP and some some single-use tickets for the 4 of us. All of that to ride a mere 6 stops back to the hotel. And the ride - crushingly crowded and lacking air conditioning. It was not one of the kids' more cherished experiences, but certainly a memorable one. Once back at the hotel, it was showers and dress-up time. Tonight was to be a fancy outing.

The evening started with a great meal at the members-only Soho Club in London's West End. We stuffed ourselves on roast beef, prawns, gourmet hamburgers, finger desserts, and on and on. Dinner was only a prelude to the evening's entertainment, however. We had prime seats to see Mary Poppins - the smash hit musical playing in London at the Prince Edward Theater. The theater was beautiful - very reminiscent of Toronto's Pantages (now Canon) theater. It was darn warm in the theater, however, and I was glad to have worn light clothes. As for the play itself, it was simply one of the best musical theater experiences I had ever had (and we've seen our fair share of theater)!

After the play, we were instructed to remain in the theater until the audience had left. And with that, the Stage Director appeared to give us a backstage tour! Being a very technical play, there were a lot of sets and props under computer control - and it was fascinating to see how everything worked. While we were not allowed to takes photos, our guides did get a group photo of all the kids lined up on the main set - a real keepsake!

After 40 minutes or so of poking around backstage, we were led out the back into the wilds of a West End evening. Music, shouting, and madness is all I can remember as we made our way back to the bus through the streets overflowing with theater patrons and clubbers. Soon enough, we were back at Chancery Court - ready for sleep, ready for day two.

The West End after the plays let out

Euro Day 6: Call Me A Cab!

It's July 13th - Friday, July 13th and, yes, this is just lazy foreshadowing.

At 8:30am we took our leave of Eagle House, Bathford under overcast skies with warm breezes to kiss us good-bye. Today would be D-Day - short for Disney Day - where we would be joining up with our Adventures by Disney Cities of Knights and Lights tour of London and Paris. Our first task was to drive 2 hours back to Heathrow airport so that we could return Blue Passat and meet our Disney Driver for a lift into London.

The trip was pretty uneventful, and I remarked how unfortunate it was that the whole driving thing was coming to an end just as I was learning how not to dig my fingernails into the steering wheel. One side note on this trip: we discovered the joy of gas prices in the UK by paying 31GBP for half a tank of diesel! We pulled into Avis Heathrow a little after 11am - slightly ahead of schedule. Our first taste of triskaidekaphobia kicked in when the good people at Avis discovered the damaged tyre (quite by accident, actually) and assessed a 78GBP charge. No problem. Let it go. Stay calm.

We pulled our caravan of wheeled suitcases onto the Avis shuttle and, soon enough, we were at the appointed Disney pickup spot (Terminal 3 Arrivals) with 30 minutes to spare. The plan was coming together. We'd made it from Bath on time and intact. Come Noontime, we'd be traveling in luxury into the heart of London. But no Disney Driver was to be found. I paced the Arrivals area peering at the many, many drivers holding up signs for their charges. No one was looking for me, however, and by 12:30pm, Dee elected to call the Disney 'emergency' number - long-distance to the US (why not a local number?). After a few calls back and forth, Disney acknowledged there had been a screw-up and that we should take a cab into London. Someone from Disney would be waiting for us at the hotel and would pay the fare. No problem. Let it go. Stay calm.

Tip: Make sure your cell-phone will work in England and France. Your cell-phone provider can tell you what frequencies/protocols your phone must support and what the per-minute charges will be. Carry along the ABD 'concierge' phone number as well.

The UK's heightened Counter Terrorist warning came to be a blessing where finding a taxi was concerned. As we walked to the taxi stand - looking annoyed and bewildered I'm sure - 2 uniformed officials quizzed us for a destination and immediately waved a cab to pick us up. The cab ride was unusual in the sense that the vehicle did not seem designed for the likes of us. The luggage rode shotgun with the driver and BandGeek was obliged to use a fold-down seat facing the rear of the cab. But 40 minutes and 60GBP later, we were standing in front of the amazing Chancery Court Hotel being greeted by Alexandra (Alex) - one of our guides for the next week.

Check-in was a breeze as Alex took care of everything, all the while apologizing for the Disney Driver screwup (apparently a miscommunication between Office Staff and Field Staff). We were even given an upgrade room for our troubles. The hotel - once home to The Pearl Insurance Company - was (and probably still is) as upscale as I'd ever encountered (pictures below). Alex was obviously in control of all details. All in all, fears of Friday the 13th melted from my brow.

Chancery Court

The Lobby

The ABD tour would officially kick-off at a group dinner scheduled for 5:30pm at the hotel. So after some quick freshening up and unpacking, we decided to kill the afternoon by visiting the British Museum since it's only about a 10-minute walk from Chancery Court. We had only limited time to tour the vast spaces of the Museum, so we elected to focus on seeing the Rosetta Stone and the Egyptian wing (especially the mummies). I had hoped to visit the Reading Room, but it was closed in preparation for a new exhibit that would not open for a few months. A small disappointment, but we had a great time nonetheless.

The British Museum



BandGeek ponders the Egyptians

Tip: The British Museum has free admission and is very close to the Chancery Court. As you're walking there - and if you're a Doctor Who fan - you might spot a shop that is full of figurines and models (Daleks, Tardis's, etc.). It's well worth a look.

At the appointed time, we met the rest of the tour group (aka The Gang) for the Welcome Reception. There were drinks (pop, wine, etc.) and snacks set out as we found a place at one of the tables. This was a chance to meet our fellow travelers. Alex and Andrew (our second ABD guide) handed out pieces of paper and instructed each of us to find out 10 interesting facts about other members of The Gang. I'm a fairly social guy when the need arises, but introducing myself to strangers and probing them for their secrets is a little out of my comfort zone. But this was actually a fun exercise since everyone had the same goal and motivation. Sure enough, we met a lot of people and found out some pretty neat facts. Examples: we were the only Canadians in The Gang, one mother/daughter couple were hopscotching their way from California to DisneyWorld, Ireland, ABD London/Paris, Disneyland Paris, and then ABD Italy (whew!), and one lady won the trip in a contest at her place of work - to name but a few. At 35 strong, The Gang was starting to bond.

After Alex and Andrew's overview of the week ahead, we retired to another room for dinner. The theme was basically 'all things British'. The buffet was a sampling of British fare (cue the jokes about British cuisine). The tables were decorated with British-inspired centerpieces. There was even a stand in the corner serving chips in newspaper cones. For those Gentle Readers who are thinking about taking this tour, I won't spoil any more of the surprises. Suffice to say that dinner was very enjoyable and the excitement in the room about the week ahead was palpable.

By 8pm, The Gang was drifting off to their rooms, and we followed suit. Tomorrow would be a busy day including a double-decker bus tour, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, tea at Harrod's..... And that's only part of the day's plans - which I'll talk about in the next post.

Bedtime Snack

Tip: While Disney does run the show, don't expect to be inundated with Mickey Mouse and the like. This is, indeed, a vacation tour. From the get-go it will be obvious that Disney is employing their exceptional strengths in customer service, 'themeing', and ability to 'tell stories'.

Euro Day 5: Splish Splash

Eagle House's garden entrance

July 12, 2007. It's Thursday, so it must be time for a Bath. One full day of sightseeing and one last day on our own before the good people at Disney start running the show. After a quiet breakfast at Eagle House, we pointed Blue Passat towards Bath. Dee was slightly annoyed that our morning dawdling might mean we'd be late for the 10am walking tour of Bath. The tour was free - hosted at the local Tourist Information (TI) office in Bath. Based on the great experiences thus far with free tours, Dee was not about to miss out.

Blue Passat knew the way back to the Cricket Grounds and we were at the TI with 10 minutes to spare (and lash marks across our backs!). In reality, the tour did not start until 10:30am, and we were obliged to cool our heels in the small square outside the TI. We passed the time watching dodgy-looking street folk try to keep the pigeons at bay. Good times. Soon enough we met our guide Myra - an elderly native of Bath with an encyclopedic knowledge of local history and architecture. For the next 2 hours Myra led us through back alleys and across broad boulevards and kept us rapt with her stories. The kids were generally engaged, although JediBoy did wane towards the 90-minute mark. We all agreed that Bath - with its Roman/Victorian stonework, lush green spaces, and the River Avon - was among the most beautiful cities we'd seen so far.

Bath phone booth

Bath counil flats - i.e. public housing

After a quick lunch - a Yorkshire pudding bowl filled with beef in ale, all designed to hide those hideous peas - we decided to dive into the algae-tinged waters from which Bath got its name. Actually, we decided to stroll casually beside the waters, in the Roman baths. As luck would have it, we fell into yet another free tour as we passed the turnstile. I think we got far more out of the tour than had we wandered about the ruins on our own simply reading the posters and signboards. The baths are an interesting combination of Roman engineering with a thick layer of Victorian dramatis on top. The waters begin some 4 kilometers below ground from where the hot water literally bubbles to the surface. The sickly green tinge is a result of hot water meeting sunlight. Back in the day, the now-open-air baths where sheltered by a wooden roof, and the waters would have been clear and inviting. As well, the baths were once part a larger complex available to the average Roman to cater to their more 'sensual' needs. I think our modern-day spas probably pale in comparison.

Main bath complex

View of Bath Abbey from the main bath complex

As a fitting end to our tour of the Roman baths, we adjourned to the famous Pump Room - a Victorian tea room that overlooks the baths. Included in the bath admission price is the opportunity to sample a glass of (filtered) bath water from a pump located in the aforementioned tea room. The theory: drinking the heavy mineralized water has curative properties. The reality: the water is a rather acquired taste. I found it not too bad, but with a vile aftertaste. I await The Cure, however.


We banished the taste of bath water with a quick ice cream snack out on the square. As the minerals washed from our tongues, we listened to the variety of street performers that earn coins from the tourists. My favourite was a dreadlocked Jamaican fellow who only knew 2 songs - and only 2 or 3 lines from each song - which he simply repeated over and over as he mugged for the tourists. What he lacked in talent he made up for in bravado.


Also skirting the square is the Bath Abbey. It's quite ornate for an Abbey and proved all the more interesting by the fact that Myra (leader of the morning tour) had educated us a bit on the symbolism in the Abbey's stone carvings. As luck would have it, the Bath Philharmonic was holding a public rehearsal - which afforded us a lovely concert as we sat in one of the rear pews.

Bath Abbey tower

Inside Bath Abbey

It was nearing mid-afternoon at this point, and we had decided to have dinner in Bath rather than driving back to Bathford. As we strolled over near the River Avon we noticed there were a number of small, 2-deck tour boats sitting idle. This would be a perfect way to kill some time before dinner and relax a bit. Long story short, the Avon cruises are relaxing for sure (and the on-board beverage service didn't hurt either). However, these tours have little in the way of historical narrative. These are really just 60-minute scenic trips, and that was just fine for us.

A fellow Avon River tourboat

Boat rentals on the Avon River

Refreshed from bobbing up and down the Avon, we strolled the narrow alleys of Bath a bit - looking for someplace to grab a bite to eat. We settled on a light dinner of sandwiches at Bath's (in)famous Sally Lunn's - known for it's signature "Sally Lunn's buns" - small round loaves of bread. This local eatery has a history stretching back 300 years, and the atmosphere doesn't disappoint. The food did not disappoint either and we found ourselves purchasing some buns to go.


With our stomachs full, it was time to say good-bye to Bath and head back to Eagle House. We would cap off our wonderful day with a walking tour of Bathford. There has been a community on the town site since Roman times, with the local church - St. Swithun's - in existance since the 1300's. The village looks like what a small English village ought to look - if it were haunted. Stone walls bordering narrow lanes, an ancient church with an adjacent graveyard, stone buildings surrounded by stone walls, greenery overgrowing everything, and no human activity other than a couple of fellow tourists walking the same circuit as us. The village is beautiful and yet so foreign to us North Americans. But I couldn't shake the whole Children of the Damned vibe.

Bathford near dusk

The family walking in lonely Bathford

And at that, we retired back to Eagle House to pack our vagabound belongings and prepare for another travel day ahead. Tomorrow, we would head back to Heathrow and turn ourselves over to the good people at Adventures by Disney.

Avoiding the Bedroom

There was a time not so long ago when Highway 400 was exactly what's it's called - a highway. In those days, people would drive upwards of 100 km/h (or more!) to travel between Barrie - a medium-sized city - and Toronto* - a very big city.

*GTA is a more accurate name, but does anybody outside the GTA really know where Vaughn begins and ends? I thought not.

Nowadays, Barrie lives within the economic event-horizon of the GTA (see, I can do it!) and the 400 is just another commuter lane. For all intents and purposes, Barrie is now a bedroom community of Toronto - like Mississauga, Etobicoke, York, and the rest of the GTA gang. It's just another checkpoint in the mad rush to flee Toronto's environs. It's a chance to barter an extra-long commute and much less family time for affordable housing and a patch of green near the back door.

The results have been predictable, of course. Housing is no longer affordable. The population of Barrie falls and swells to the workaday rhythms of those glass-skirted skyscrapers to the south. And the 400, it's just another parking lot. For those wretched souls sitting inside their cars or their GO trains, madly mashing their thumbs into their Blackberries to send their assurances they'll make the second half of Junior's soccer game, this cannot be a life fully imagined.

So why do I care?

I care because London - our all-mixed-up, little-town-in-big-britches London - is slowly and almost inexorably headed for Toronto's bedroom. It's true that we have a little more geography between Us and Them, but it's mattering less.

Our own economic giants of yesterday are gone or disappearing. The examples - they're easy to find. Canada Trust is being held hostage somewhere near the Skydome while London Life is tethered to a post at Portage and Main. These institutions once gave us the economic clout to stand on our own and thrive. The echoes of what's left tell another story. While the buildings still stand, they are but branch plants serving masters beyond the farms and hills that have always provided a sort of common sense to the city as a whole. We all know there are other examples. The London Free Press, McCormick's, O-Pee-Chee - no longer master's of their own domains.

So where am I going with this?

It's all part of of an unhealthy trend - these worrisome clues:

City Hall, the Chamber of Commerce, and LHBA chant the mantra that 'Growth is good' - all the while having no real vision what we're supposed to be when we 'grow up'. Mississauga is offered as a model. Being small-townish is now provincial and to be avoided. Success is to be measured by size - big homes, big geography, big box.

Housing prices in London have risen sharply, and no one can really explain why. Housing starts are at all-time highs while our jobless rate stubbornly sticks to 6% year after year.

The city has spawned unimaginative tentacles of bland subdivisions into the countryside, using more bland big-box stores to serve as battlements against being a Livable City. In it's wake the core crumbles. And the final irony - big boxes abandon their boxes for bigger boxes a little closer to the edge of town. And we follow along.

Our local economy lurches toward the Scylla and Charybdis of a weak economic base - Call Centers and Auto Manufacturing. As both industries siphon themselves to places where the sun is warmer and wages are lower, we in London continue to celebrate and embrace them.

More and more, private sector, high-incomes earners live in London and work (at least part-time) somewhere else. Check the Via station or airport on a weekday morning, and you'll find Londoners (unhappily) doing their regular commute to Somewhere Else (Toronto and Winnipeg are regularly destinations). Some forward-thinking companies are even running their own daily bus shuttle between London and the GTA. London has become cheap office space, but we don't run our own show, it seems. Is this a life fully imagined?

In short, we are becoming our own Mississauga. No real focus or identity or personality of our own. No real control over our own lives. No longer author's of our own stories. A home-grown service industry susceptible to the economic whims of grey suits in other places.

This is not a screed against Toronto or growth or economic success. This is simply my small wake-up cry that we're no longer calling our own shots. And I fear it will get worse.

I have no answers, really. We need to keep focused on our strengths - medicine, education, a still-reasonable standard of living, culture, etc. But we need economic decision-makers in London. We need to be masters of our own domain once more. We need to support the notion of 'being local'.

So how about it you Londoners, you LEDCers, you City Hallers, you Ambassadors - how do we stay out of the bedroom?

Euro Day 4: Old Stones and Cricket

Wednesday, July 4, 2007 and the Salisbury morning brings bright Sun and warm breezes. After one last Rokeby House breakfast, we bid our hosts, Karen and Mark, a smiling farewell and drove a few kilometers into the town center. I will note for the record that Dee declined the car keys for this short journey.

We were set on visiting Salisbury Cathedral. After a short stroll through quiet, narrow streets, we passed through the ancient arch and stood at the edge of the green space that skirts this, the tallest spire in the UK.

The free tour inside was led by our newest friend, Peter. A retired military man, Peter was the very model of a modern Major-General - and his knowledge of the Cathedral's history and architecture is vast. For 90 minutes he kept us all spellbound (even the kids!) with his stories and attention to detail. While there were so many highlights during this tour, seeing an original copy of the Magna Carta and the world's oldest working medieval clock are a few that stood out for me. It was only later that we learned the typical tour is scheduled to last only 45 minutes, and we appreciated Peter's lessons all the more.

With our time Salisbury coming to an end, our goal for the rest of the day was to meander our way towards Bath, taking in a few sights along the way. Our first stop - Old Sarum - which is the original site of what is now Salisbury. All that is left on that emerald-coloured windswept hill are the foundations of what once was. When the local populace decided to bug out in the early 1200's, they took whatever building materials they could, and moved them a few miles south to the town's present location.

After a good hour's worth of exploration at Old Sarum, we piled back into Blue Passat for the short drive to Stonehenge. Driving on the Salisbury Plain must be one of the more relaxing and idyllic trips one could make on a sunny day. Miles of green, undulating hills give way to spectacular vistas - always at just the right moment. Soon enough we were there - in the middle of nowhere in particular - amid the ancient stones of Stonehenge. While perhaps a little bit more commercialized since my first visit some 20-odd years previous, not much had changed around the site. The open fields, curious sheep, and low-key trickle of visitors were largely how I remembered things. I liked that visitors were now issued a device that provided an audio tour of the site (a feature common at many tourist destinations in England, so it seems). One big difference was the show of military force this time as compared to the 'hippie riots' that had punctuated my last visit.

After an hour or so of looking around and lunching on ice cream and scones, it was time to push on towards Bath - our next base of operations. Our actual destination was the village of Bathford on the outskirts of Bath - home to our next B&B, Eagle House. We'll explore the village of Bathford in another post, but suffice to say that it is ancient and makes liberal use of stone. Eagle House, some 250 years old, is magnificent with its stonework, gardens, and 12-foot ceilings. Certainly there was a different 'feel' than Rokeby House, and we knew we'd enjoy our stay.

After a bit of settling in, we decided it was time to dip our toes into Bath (yes, bad pun). While our guidebook suggested otherwise, we decided we might drive ourselves into town. John, our host, gave us excellent directions that would get us into the heart of town while avoiding the typical tourist congestion. The drive was not bad, although we got lost for a bit in the busy traffic. But soon enough we were in a public car-park at the Bath Cricket Grounds. This was a tip from John - not many people know that the car-park exists, and we had no trouble finding a spot for Blue Passat. As a bonus, some cricketers(?) were on the pitch holding a practise, and we spent a few minutes watching this very odd sport!

Expectedly, Bath is old and constructed largely of stone. After some 'roadhouse faire' at a restaurant in the central area of Bath, our plan for this evening was to avoid any real sightseeing. Rather, we intended to to sign on to watch a bit of street theater known as Bizarre Bath - which had run across during our Internet research. So, we found the pub at the appointed meeting time and paid our pounds. The one-man show did not disappoint. The best way to describe it is 'street theater meets Monty Python'. While it offers no historical education, we did get to spend 2 hours walking through central Bath being thoroughly entertained. Mind you, if you pale at the idea of a magic trick involving a rabbit named Stuart, a rucksack, and the River Avon, then perhaps you'd be better off to skip Bizarre Bath. My family, however, loved it.

The tour wrapped up at 10pm, and so it was time to find our way back to Bathford. Driving the twisting roads in the dark was not so bad, but I made a note to avoid doing it again. And so, a busy day came to an end inside the old, stone walls of Eagle House. Tomorrow, we would tour Bath properly.

Time Traveling in the Blogosphere

So I went and made a somewhat-public statement that I'd go back and finish the posts I started 6 months ago about Eurotour 2007. After re-reading my trip journal, I think this will be fun (for me) and uncomfortably close to watching someone else's vacation slides (for you). But since there's bugger-all going on here lately and my Vanity Project isn't being nominated for any awards anytime soon, what the hell. Let's do a Dallas Shower Scene and pretend it's July 2007 once more, shall we?

Eurotour Day 1 (and 2) was Monday July 9, 2007 and that was the day I had a heart attack. No one paid much attention, but it happened. You can read about it here.

Day 3: Suck It Up, Buttercup

After the horrors whose corporeal form was a Blue Passat, today promised more of the same. The game plan was to drive(!) 60 minutes from Salisbury down to Portsmouth; the present and historical home of the British Navy. I love ships - especially old ones - and this day was one I had been planning for weeks. The trouble was, I was not enamoured with the idea of more driving. And so, I avoided the topic as long as possible.

The morning stated with a lovely breakfast of smoked salmon and creamy scrambled eggs prepared by our hosts at Rokeby House. I think I enjoyed this much more than anyone else. All through the meal I studiously avoided any talk of Portsmouth.

After breakfast we wandered over Salisbury market looking for interesting things to buy. There were none. We wandered over to Salisbury Cathedral for a look-see. There was a funeral underway and we couldn't go inside. I'm sure there's more to do in Salisbury on a grey Tuesday morning, but it was not obvious to us.

And now, the picture that is etched in my mind forever more: my family imploring me (rather angrily) that we needed to get into the Blue Passat and go see Portsmouth. When you get leaned on by an 11 year-old, you better grow some stones (I heard some big kids say that once).

And so I did.

Karen from Rokeby assured us the drive was easy. Well guess what? It was easy! And the tire held! And 60 minutes later we descended from the high, flat plains of Salisbury and my breath froze in my lungs as I saw the vast, sweeping, grey-hulled expanse of history that is Portsmouth. I had never seen so many ships in my entire life!

In this, the birthplace of Charles Dickens, there really was more to do than we could fit into a single day. We concentrated our time, therefore, on the Historic Dockyards. Upon purchasing the deluxe tourist pass, the highlights included:

The soaring Spinnaker Tower and it's 23-mile view out to the Isle of Wight:

Nelson's HMS Victory - the oldest commissioned ship in the Royal Navy:

And Henry VIII's ancient Mary Rose - cast in a haunting, waxy light:

Add to all this a boat tour of the harbour, a chance to climb around another vessel or two, some museums, and a most excellent Italian meal, and you've got a jam-packed day of salt-water, barnacles, and history.

As we drove back to Salisbury at the tired end of the day, it occurred to me that I'd learned a few things. First, driving in England could be tolerable (barely). Second, I'd been reminded of how much fun a family could have together. Third, my sense of direction still sucked. We got lost in Salisbury (again) and ended up in the maze of one-way streets in the old part of town that all the guide books say you must avoid.

After a few rolls of the dice, however, we magically were spat out from the mouse maze of narrow streets and found ourselves back at Rokeby House. And thus ended the day with cups of tea all around and some quiet journal writing. Tomorrow we would be traveling back in time even further - Stonehenge and beyond!

Computer Boy, Heal Thyself!

Back in the mid-70's, my younger cousin Joe received the gift of a new calculator which, in those days, was an expensive rarity to be owned only by engineering-types who only grudgingly gave up their slide rules. But for a young teen such as Joe - a non-geek - to own such a device meant instant celebrity status. In truth, this fueled a secret loathing in some of us covetous types as Joe - again, a non-geek - seemed to collect and discard these sorts of treasures on a regular basis. That's a subject for a different post, I think.

His calculator came with a book that detailed all sorts of neat tricks with numbers. The only ones I really remember today are how to make the display read "Shelloil", and how to calculate (and graph) your personal biorhythms.

Now, I never really believed in biorhythms but the notion always stuck in my head. I suppose it's due to the same brain-wiring that makes me open up the Freeps every morning to read my horoscope (yes, that's 2 strikes in one sentence). The last few weeks have made me think again about biorhythms - specifically the point at which the Emotional, Physical, and Intellectual cycles intersect at their lowest points. This, of course, would be a good time to lock the doors, open a book, and wait it out. To do otherwise would guarantee a Very Bad Day.

Indeed.

These last few weeks would seem to prove that biorhythms are real. Everything I've touched has gone to hell in pretty craptacular ways. I've been dull-witted (really), quite moody, and fighting perpetual fatigue. The evidence is tangible:

• I installed a rather large closet organizer and, close to completion, I realized all the drywall anchors were installed backwards. I'm a reasonably handy fellow, but what should have been a 2-hour job turned into something closer to 5 hours.
• I've been napping - every day. I never nap.
• Closet organizer redux - It took me hours to realize that the (dozen) marks in the new hardwood floor were not a result of my awkward man-handling of the closet doors. Rather, they were caused by the metal legs of my step-stool where they had cut through the rubber feet. Lovely, huh? Thanks be to Xenu for creating matching wood filler.
• BandGeek, my 15 year-old daughter, is barely talking to me this week. We don't quite see eye-to-eye on setting appropriate levels of usage for MSN chatting and text messaging on cellphones. Apparently I'm over-reacting. In other words, my temper is to be avoided this week.
• The coup de grace - I inadvertently blew up my computer. With the PC case open, I moved the power cable to the CD drive every so slightly and exposed a heretofore unknown short in the CD power connection. This power lead also serviced 2 of the 3 hard drives in the PC - and they were toasted. Now, I've been an IT Guy for 25-ish years and I'm pretty handy in that department. In my neighbourhood, I'm the go-to Geek for PCs, plumbing, eletrical work, etc. Biorhythms don't care how clever I am, so it seems. It cost me 2 new drives, a whole bunch of re-install time, quite likely some videos I've been working on, and a great big glistening ball of my dignity.

This is just a partial list. It's been that bad. Just for giggles I checked my biorhythms for the past few weeks. As suspected, my cycles were at critically low levels. But, hey, things are looking up next week. I'm a believer now.

P.S. So why was Computer Boy here pushing wires around inside a working PC? He was checking for free memory slots in preparation for a few upgrades that would enable him to play Bioshock at decent settings. Sad, isn't he?

What Geeks Get In Their Stockings

Christmas is all about quiet reflection, lazy times with Loved Ones, and re-energizing the soul. It's not about presents.

Am I right? Of course I am.

So I won't say anything to the contrary. I'll just show pictures and smile warmly.





I love my family. And now I get to upgrade my video card.

News Flash!

I love old newsreels. I love their quick-cut soft-focus black-and-white style. I love their off-beat stories and over-the-top narratives.

I also love hyphens, so it seems.

So imagine the tingly feeling I got when I discovered - quite by accident - that venerable British Pathe Limited has digitized their entire library. That's 75 years of still photos and, yes, Pathe newsreels.

It's all out there at www.britishpathe.com and it's free. You can search their vast database, you can view the content, and you can even download videos. Just as good as the actual stuff are the comments tagged onto each bit of footage in the archive.

A random search on 'turtle', for example, yielded a few gems such as:

Professor Huxley introduces a new policy of encouraging public access to the animals.

Turtles crawl across a beach, a woman turns a turtle over and boys are cruel to turtles.

Quirky news from France and Florida.

Maybe it's not everyone's cuppa, but it's a cool little gift to me.

Oh, and the comment about imagining tingly feelings... you can ignore that... unless you're Billie Piper or some such, that is.... in which case you can imagine all you like so long as you video yourself imagining such tinglings and post the evidence so that everyone (and that means you Mr. Twist!) knows it.